


Flower Crowns

by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flowers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Safe Haven, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild/pseuds/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: When Wanda wakes up alone, missing her mother, she does the only think she can think of. She buys flowers and makes crowns and chains and lets that feeling of missing her mother consume her. Enter Bucky who, instead of trying to fix her, simply joins her in her world and lets her return to him when she's ready.





	Flower Crowns

Bucky’s come home to Wanda is various emotional states.

He’s learned to differentiate between them; flirty and giggly often ended with them in the bedroom, while distant and snap-ish meant she wasn’t feeling up to human contact. Not that he could blame her for that. He didn’t much feel like human contact, some days. So, on those days, he quietly makes dinner, makes sure she eats, if only a few bites, and waits her out. Usually after they’ve both had a shower and he’s settled in bed with a book, she’ll crawl into bed, curl up against him, and let her body shudder with quiet sobs while he strokes her hair and soothes her with soft Sokovian.

This is a little different, however.

Today is a little different. Instead of being closed-off or snappish, she’s sitting in the middle of the living room surrounded by dozens of wildflowers. Although there were many downsides to his time as winter soldier, one of the perks was hayfever and allergies being a thing of the past. He’s glad for that because there is no escaping this. There’s everything from daisies in colors he didn’t think possible to tiny little blossoms of Queen Anne’s Lace scattered across the living room. And, she’s in the middle of it. He can tell just by her face that it’s been a bad day. Her eyes are slightly swollen, rimmed red, and her mouth is set in a firm scowl.

Her long brown curls are ratty and messy and there’s several crowns of different flowers tangled in the dark knots. There are stems wrapped around her fingers and a rainbow of blooms dripping down to her crossed ankles. She is disheveled, upset, and his breath still leaves his lung as if someone punched him in the gut.

“Hey Doll,” he murmurs, dropping his gear onto the floor near the door. “Bad day?”

A single nod.

She’s not going to talk. Not right now. She doesn’t want to, and he won’t force her. So, he does the only thing he can think to do. He kicks off his boots, steps carefully over the flowers surrounding his girl, and sits down as close to her as he dares.

“Want to borrow my head?” he bends slightly in her direction, tilting his head down. “I hear I’ve got a pretty big one.”

No response.

Usually, his self-deprecating humor gets a giggle out of her but he takes no offense. She’s had a bad day and isn’t in the mood. But it isn’t long before he feels the soft prodding of her fingers parting his hair and the feel of a stem sliding along his scalp.

“What kind of flower is it, Doll?”

“Snapdragon.” Wanda murmurs, twisting another stem into his messy hair.

It continues on until there’s a crown of snapdragons twisted around the top of his head, sliding in between sections of his messy hair. When she can’t fit anymore, he lifts his head, and holds out his arm - the metal one.

“My mother,” she’s coming around, now; the length of a pastel blue daisy chain winding around his arm as she does so. “For my birthday, she would braid Sokovian roses together and I would wear it all day until I had to go to bed. When I was ten, she taught me how to make them. I’ve never forgotten.”

“They’re beautiful, sweetheart.” he thumbs a bright orange poppy resting on her knee.

“I dreamt about her, last night.”

“About your mother?”

Wanda nods, reaching for the poppy he’d been playing with, and threading it in between a couple of the daisies. The orange pops wildly against the blue and clashes with the scuffed silver of his arm in burst of velvety fire.

“And, then I woke up this morning,” Wanda’s breath catches in her throat. “And, you were gone and I felt so alone, James.”

“I’m sorry, doll.” Bucky murmurs, “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. But I had that damn briefing with Fury.”

She just shrugs and pushes on; “I needed my mother but she can - she is not here. So I asked Mister Stark where I might find some flowers and I - “

“Surrounded yourself with her.”

Because, Wanda’s mind can often be that of a child. Associating a certain object with a certain emotion. The way a child might associate ice cream with joy, Wanda associates flowers and crowns and long chains of soft petals and thick stems with her mother and feeling warm and safe and loved.

“I wish I could have stayed home, today, sweetheart.” Bucky sighs.

“It is not your fault, James.” Wanda shrugs and his favorite t-shirt slides off of one shoulder. “There is nothing you could do. You are not my mother.”

“No,” he laughs, “No, I’m not.”

Still.

He wishes he could have been home to help her through this bad day, she’d clearly had. Although, the flowers were a good coping mechanism - they would wilt and he hoped it wouldn’t leave her right back where she started.

She finishes weaving her creation around his metal arm and looks up at him through red eyes; “Thank you, James.”

He brushes her jaw with his thumb and smiles; “Anytime, doll.”

Wanda reaches forward to slide her arms around his neck and he wraps his good arm around her, easily tugging her into his lap. She comes willingly, folding herself into his body, away from the world. That feeling she’s been looking for all day, with the flowers and memories of her mother, it’s slowly twisting up her spine and settling into her brain.

They stay that way for hours.

Just the two of them, wearing flowers, and surrounded by dozens more. The crowns tangled in her hair are crushed when she rests her head on his chest, and the daisy chains around his metal arm don’t fair much better. But, he doesn’t care. He can clean the pollen off of his metal arm. He’ll even pick up what’s left of her day. As long as she’s okay. As long as she feels safe and _not_ alone, then he’s okay.

It sort of becomes their thing. If he has to leave before she wakes up in the morning, he’ll bring her back flowers of all kinds, and they’ll sit in the living room floor with a glass of wine and slow jazz and he’ll watch her weave them together in crowns and chains and listen to the tinge of Sokovian in her voice as she hums along and the pull of her body as she sways with the music. If anybody else knows, they don’t say anything because they know how Bucky and Wanda are.

They make each other feel safe.


End file.
